There was a big alumni to-do for Small Liberal Arts College last night, and no way was I parting with my six week-old appendage, so I brought her along. She behaved like someone who had been drugged and bribed, and given the fact that I won't give her any OTC meds yet and given the fact that she doesn't understand negotiations, I think it's safe to say that my daughter is part human, part cherub. She was an absolute angel.
I get a big WWJD complex at social gatherings. I must have an inner magnet for certain people. I am constantly caught wedged in a corner with the following people:
1.) That Guy who is social handicapped by his tendency to talk only to womens' boobs.
2.) That Woman who always needs to be reintroduced to you, which can be really laborious when you're explaining your connectedness through your freshman roommate for the fifth time.
3.) Those People who still see you as their RA and prattle on only about their latest accomplishments, expecting that you'll still be there to put a sticky star on their door, or something. And who never ask about you.
What would Jesus do? He would let them suffer Him gladly.
I'll be honest. I find most people my age extremely boring. And by that, I don't mean that I don't like my peers. I mean that I become bored in the presence of my peers when the conversation dwells on the externals. I really don't care about your degree, your paycheck, your non-profit's mission. I don't care. I find it all rather boring, as I found talking about my job, my commute, my corporate climb altogether rather pedestrian.
Rather, I want to know about where your heart is. I want to hear how your mom calls you four times a day to ask how to use the internet. I want to hear how you deal with That Guy who can't help but boob-gawk. I want to hear about everything alumni gatherings are not intended for, but which make them all the more memorable and meaningful.
On my way in to the gathering, I met a couple whom I would say were probably in their early sixties. They hadn't driven into Boston Proper since before the Big Dig. They were so kind and cordial, and they kept ogling Madigan. The fellow kept saying her name out loud because he said, "I'm going to have to remember that one. Madigan." I kept thinking about them, how lovely they were. How they were intimidated by the Big Dig, but how they were impressed by my one month-old daughter. I wanted to know their secret to growing old with a sense of awe about the way things change, and their ability to make a 27 year-old who often doesn't have a clue feel like they actually cared about her. It's as if their kindness said Don't grow jaded. There's so much to learn and love. And so many Big Digs still to dig yourself out from....